


a taste of ester

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas Party, First Kiss, Hux doesn't have feelings, M/M, Mistletoe, or at least thats what he'd like to think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 11:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Hux hates parties, Christmas, and Ren.Tonight, he's forced to deal with all three, and things won't end up how he expects them to.





	a taste of ester

**Author's Note:**

> Done for an Xmas request: “I’m not going to kiss you under the mistletoe.” Which was just perfect for these two pricks, I feel. 
> 
> It's my first day sorry if I mangled their characterization. I did my best! Look, it even has a fancy lower case title and everything.

Hux had never much enjoyed parties.

They always felt a waste of time, especially to a man who liked to keep himself constantly busy. Attending something so frivolous, without point or purpose, set a crawl upon his neck.

But skipping the annual office Christmas party might shine a poor light on his already dim social reputation. Much as Hux didn’t personally care for that sort of thing, good impressions mattered when it came to opportunities and promotions. He could endure a few handshakes and dry seasonal greetings for the sake of his career.

Phasma also had a hand in prodding him to accept the invitation. He suspected her motivation was half her own amusement and half genuine concern over his cold perception of workplace interaction. Not that he saw _her_ here engaging their inferiors in busy talk, but maybe she was just planning to arrive late.

His lips tipped slightly downwards at the edges, settled in his usual neutral frown, as he stood underneath a doorway opening one of the many hallways branching out from the main ballroom.

His deep, ink-blue suit cut him in a slim but imposing figure, shoulders padded out and lines stiff and angular. Hux pulled the white cuffs of his dress shirt out over his exposed wrist, slight chill seeping through the fabric thanks to the brisk air flowing through the room, despite the amount of guests already in attendance.

At least the higher-ups had the decency to rent out a proper venue rather than boxing dozens of people into the barren little office meeting room, with a couple chintzy decorations and uninspired catering. If that’d been the case, Hux would’ve almost certainly stayed home.

Even here, in a decently classy ballroom with proper food and ambience, Hux felt bothered and eager to leave as soon as he had an excuse to.

He looked down at the heavy glass he cradled in his palm, raw smell of whiskey sour drifting up to his nose. The glint of the lights off the rim dimmed slightly with the effect of the alcohol. _Well_. He couldn’t leave until this was out of his system. Much as the holiday season bored him, he didn’t want to spend it in the ICU. 

There was a few nonsensical, sickly-sweet drinks featured on the custom menu at the bar—brightly colored cocktails adorned with garish peppermint sticks and crusted rims crystallized like the new-fallen snow outside. Hux wanted nothing to do with that sort of thing. He’d gone through the trouble of tailoring his palate to dry, nigh bitter drinks that tingled on the tongue rather than rendered him sluggish with sugar—so much so that the mere thought of sipping any of those vile concoctions made him nauseous. He wasn’t about to sacrifice his stomach for any of them, even if they were seasonal.

A couple dismal cranberries in the bottom of his glass—just enough to tinge the bourbon half a shade redder—was the extent of his festive indulgence.

But the alcohol was strong. Hux was edging towards slight inebriation, his straight posture now leaning slightly against the doorframe. He tilted his head back, casting a critical eye back over the party proper.

There was food served on long tables decorated with holly and balsam fir, but nothing that appealed to him—mostly decadent sweets and appetizers that would weigh too heavy on his stomach within minutes. He didn’t feel all that hungry anyway, mostly looking for something to do other than standing around, drink in hand watching the others socialize.

Waltzing, somewhat sleepy covers of holiday music piped into the room, urging a few couples onto the dance floor, though most milled in a vague mass around it, observing those in the center much like Hux observed them.

Nothing notable caught his eye until a few minutes and several sips of his drink later. He’d managed to relax slightly, until he spotted someone, a large dark blot against the opposite wall, standing out against the rest of the festively dressed guests.

For a moment Hux squinted, just until he made out a pale face behind a curtain of shaggy hair, because then it hit him.

Oh no.

 _Ren_.

Hux cringed. He’d hoped to endure the rest of the night without Ren imposing upon him. Even looking at him was a bit of an offense. He settled on the edge of the part like a shadow, an unwelcome ghost haunting the festivities.

Hux hoped he didn’t decide to drift over his way. He was finally starting to enjoy himself at this blasted party, and he didn’t want the calm he’d managed to establish—alone in the doorway, nursing his drink—to be shattered by Ren’s awful temper.

Hux should’ve learned by now not to get his hopes up.

He stayed stiff and aloof as Ren started to approach him, even though inwardly he groaned. He didn’t bother acknowledging the other man as he leaned against the other side of the doorway, though his eyes did flicker up to take in what Ren was wearing.

 _Sloppy_ , Hux noted, immediately contrasting Ren’s clothing with his own. Where Hux had pressed and delicately creased Ren wrinkled. He wondered if he even knew how to properly iron a suit, much less how to properly fold one’s pants to keep them looking sharp.

It fit him well, at least. Neither too small nor too large, just hopelessly disheveled when placed besides Hux's. Critically decorating their differences in a means almost appealing, highlighting Hux’s inherent superiority in an observable form.

Yet he still felt that twinge of discomfort he always got when Ren came close, a feeling he instantly snipped away from _fear_. He couldn’t deny the other man was far more physically imposing than he could ever be—broad shoulders and heavy steps and inches in height lorded over him—and how it reminded Hux of the frustrating slenderness in his legs and arms he allowed himself to see only in the briefest moments at the end and beginning of the day, before hiding them from scrutiny with the gauntlet of his clothes. 

Ren coughed when he got close enough, as if hoping that might spur Hux to speak first, but he remained tightlipped and questioning.

“You know, you really picked an interesting place to stand,” Ren finally decided to speak up, voice low and a little gummy in his mouth.

Hux narrowed his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

Ren pointed towards the ceiling.

“Did you not notice you were under it?”

“Hm?” Hux looked up, and sure enough—a bushel of weeds and little white berries hung a few feet above his head. A festive red ribbon bound it together, dimmed lights of the party softly lighting the satin.

“Ah. So I am.” He looked back down in his drink, clinking the ice cubes together, already forgetting about Ren’s observation. Hux gave the other man little to continue upon in terms of conversation, but Ren didn’t leave, didn’t return to his brooding around the crowd of the party.

He instead shuffled like an antsy boy in primary school, picking at the cuff of his shirt, rubbing the back of his neck, then returning to the cuff to awkwardly pop the button out and fidget it back in. His hands were too large to move with much grace.

“Is there something you wanted from me?” Hux finally spoke, annoyed with Ren’s persisting presence. He usually didn’t spend this much time around him—at least not so much quiet, agreeable time. Most of their encounters degenerated into one of Ren’s fits, blaming Hux for things he wasn’t responsible for or otherwise beyond his control. Ren acted like he wanted him as his personal punching bag, but Hux had always refused to lay down and let the man tramp all over him. It’s why news of their “rivalry” has already transcended to other departments and drifted up to the ears of their superiors, much to Hux’s dismay.

It’s why Ren should stop dawdling and trying to talk to him like they were anything more than reluctant coworkers.

“Well.” Ren made a vague gesture, shoulders rising and falling. “You know how it goes, right? When two people are…you know.”

He pointed up again. This time, Hux didn’t follow his finger. He didn’t have to, because he understood what he was implying, and it forced more annoyance up into his chest once the moment of surprise passed.

 _Lord_. Was this some kind of joke, or was Ren _really_ this foolish?”

“I’m not going to kiss you under the mistletoe,” Hux scorned, taking half a step back to put some space between the two of them. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ren defended, like he were the silly little tradition’s mother, “it’s a _symbol_. There’s a lot of history behind it, you know.”

“Didn’t think you were so _sentimental_.” Hux wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want _Ren_ of all people to lecture him over a damn _twig_.

But the other man doesn’t launch into a tirade—in fact he doesn’t speak at all, at least not right away. He just looks at Hux with those dark eyes, moistened with a lot less focus than usual.

Hux could tell he wasn’t sober either—Ren’s been indulging in one of those cocktails he’d turned his nose up at the bar, soused so with peppermint schnapps he could smell it from across the room, and certainly on Ren’s breath, now that he stood only inches away. His lips were pinker than they usually seemed, though perhaps Hux just had just never been so close without nearly coming to blows.

He blinked away the thought.

No. Kissing Ren was insanity. Doing so at a public party with coworkers and superiors alike present was suicide. Hux refused to give in and debase himself for a ridiculous custom. No matter how much the alcohol in his system might try to numb his common sense, no matter how nice Ren might look when he wasn’t at Hux’s throat.

Right now he actually looked a little put out, like he sometimes did for a split second when he realized Hux had won one of their many arguments.

“Why not?” Ren’s fingers rolled back through his barely-combed hair, self-conscious. “What’s wrong with me?”

Hux snorted.

“If you’d like me to compile a full list of reasons, we may not finish before the year’s run out.”

“Better get started, then.”

“For one, in case it’s escaped your notice, you and I are currently attending a _company_ party. With people the both of us have to work with for the foreseeable future.” Hux shook his head. “Rumors fly fast, everyone’s phone has a camera these days. We’ll become a laughingstock. You, more than you already are.”

Ren rolled his eyes, fixing him with a skeptical glare.

“Why do you care so much about what people think of you?”

“Oh _please_ ,” Hux scoffed as he waved his drink, “don’t play that card just to get what _you_ want _._ You’ll sound desperate.”

“I don’t _want_ it,” Ren deflected, “and I’m not desperate, I just thought—“

“What?”

Hux watched Ren go quiet, his throat bobbing with a swallow. Much as he tried to pass himself off as logical, a master of self control, he betrayed far too much expression in his face, his posture. The depths of his eyes churned to the surface thanks to alcohol. Hux could see him—an emotional boy playing at adult. A frustrating contradiction he hated to entertain.

Hux’s eyes flitted to the side, to ensure no one had noticed their dispute, distracting him from the moment Ren surged forward and crashed their lips together.

He barely managed to keep hold of his drink, to stop the glass from slipping from his fingers, crashing against the floor, and undeniably attracting _more_ attention. And Hux certainly wanted as few people as possible to see this.

At first he felt anger—Ren dared to _kiss him,_ even when Hux made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with him nor this trivial tradition. Ren didn’t let him get away with a brief peck, either, didn’t bother realize his mistake nor read Hux’s body language—no, he pressed up against him like a concrete wall, sandwiching his hapless form against the doorframe. One of Ren’s hand clutched his lapel, undoubtedly creasing it in that brutish palm of his. The other held him by the shoulder, holding him far too tight like a puppy testing a bite. Hux couldn’t escape.

Surely he could have Ren reprimanded for this. Even a man as feared and privileged as him couldn’t withstand a proper HR scandal.

The idea was tempting. Maybe with a proper strike against Ren, they could finally put this extraneous rivalry to bed.

Yet Hux didn’t try to wrench his head to the side and break the kiss. He squirmed a little in Ren’s hold but let his warm mouth stay, lips shifting softly against Hux’s as he tested where they touched. A peek of something wet slipped between, sending a shudder down his rigid spine.

Hux was sure if he kept his eyes open he’d witness themerry voyeurism of his drunk coworkers, so he squeezed them shut, left with only the smell and taste and sensation of the other man against him.

He was no lightweight, but Ren’s kiss really made Hux feel the alcohol in his system. He swayed on his feet, knees going slightly weak much to his consternation. With the surprise now passed he wanted to hate this, wanted to will the hand resting against Ren’s chest to claw into him, raking and twisting until he broke away and left Hux alone.

His nails only scraped uselessly against the fabric of Ren’s suit.

Hux ended up with one hand resting clutched against the other man’s chest, feeling how hard it was beneath his clothes. _Hell_. In moments of weakness during the work day he’d noted the way Ren’s office attire tightened about his upper body, clearly not bothering to wear a decent undershirt, but grasping a ghost of a touch had Hux feeling entirely different.

Ren’s hand had shifted from Hux’s shoulder to his face by the time he broke the kiss, his warm and slightly damp palm lightly caressing his cheek. A thumb pressed up against Hux’s lower lip, Ren rubbing against where his mouth had been just second before. Like he needed to ground himself in what’d happened.

“You’re quite forceful,” Hux panted in the humid, shared air between them. He kept his voice low. “Aren’t you concerned at all about what your underlings think? Your _superiors_?”

Ren couldn’t be so stupid as to believe those above him wouldn’t regard such fraternization with a critical eye. No matter his tendency to jumpto emotion before reason.

Ren exhaled sluggish minty breath in response as his large eyes lifted from Hux’s lips to lock with his gaze, and for the first time Hux _really_ felt the tenuous, dangerous intimacy between them like a hot poker in his stomach. He hated to wilt in Ren’s presence, to show deference to him, but this time the reaction brimmed up from a pool far removed from fear.

Ren raised his hand a little further, fingers drifting feathery red locks out of the stiff slick Hux had styled his hair into.

“If you’re so worried about someone seeing us…we could go somewhere more private,” Ren mumbled, petting Hux’s head as if his hair felt extraordinary against his palm. He flinched slightly as thick fingers stroked the strands out of place.

“What exactly are you insinuating?” Hux bristled, trying to pull sense back to himself, trying to reconcile with the fact that he’d allowed Ren to _kiss him_.

Distantly, he thought he could hear Phasma’s laughter. He wondered if she’d ever shown up to the party at all.

Ren continued touching him, not moving away and giving Hux any breathing room. The fingers knitted in his lapel moved, tracing the braid of his tie and nearly brushing up against his throat.

“This whole floor is rented out. There’s plenty of other rooms. Or my car. Your car. Anywhere.”

Strange sincerity fluttered across Ren’s face and into his voice, low with promise, but it was hard for Hux to convince himself to trust him. The man might very well wrap his hands around his neck and throttle him the moment they were alone. Ren was assuming _a lot_ of Hux if he believed he would blindly trail behind him.

“Are you really so used to getting what you want that you expect me to slaver after you following one kiss? Like a _dog_?” Hux sneered, pressing at Ren’s chest. “I’m not so easy—“

Lips silenced his words, smothering them into a pitiful whine Hux was shocked came from him. Ren’s fingers dug slightly into his scalp, pulling at the hair on the side of his head.

Hux finally lost grip on the drink but the heavy, empty glass only thudded harmlessly against the carpet of the hallway. The free hand now grasped at Ren’s arm, feeling the flex of muscles beneath the yielding wool of his suit.

The kiss lacked as much hesitation as the first, the roughness Ren pushed upon him now with intent. It weakened something inside Hux, something he kept concealed save for those few brief, secret moments of fantasy he allowed himself to indulge.

Ren was wild, an impudent hurricane barely corralled in the form of a man, in a slapped on suit and somehow, inexplicably, Hux wanted to see what he had going on beneath it. 

The hand not cradling Hux’s head traveled down the line of his lapels, eventually circling around to settle on his waist, right where the side of his suit darted slightly inwards. Those finger Hux had thought to be so graceless mere minutes before stroked with sensitivity in mind, as if Ren knew where to touch to best get him to respond.

His palm cradled the full width of Hux’s side, hold firm. He felt Ren could snap him in half if he wanted, and for the first time, that kind of strength was _enticing_.

Hux knew he must be properly flushed when Ren pulled away. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, the embarrassed tinge that no doubt made him look comical in contrast with typical pallor. His lips were wet, mouth tasting of mint and Ren.

Hux’s fingers dug into the other man’s sleeve, unbalanced from the kiss. His countenance wavered, thoughts unusually disordered. Part of Hux still wanted to pull himself back together, shove Ren away and go home to scrub his mouth until it was raw and unable to taste anything. But that part slipped farther and farther away by the second, leaving Hux to crave the sensation still tingling on his tongue, starting to spread throughout his body.

Ren hid his face against Hux’s left cheek, breathing out against his ear.

“Do you need more convincing?”

Hux swallowed, his collar almost too tight against his throat now. His hand moved from Ren’s bicep to brush at his hair. It was thick from the oils of his palm, from the petting of a nervous tic, and curled about Hux’s fingers. He clutched at it, just as Ren had done with his when they’d kissed.

“No.” Hux turned his head to the side, lips brushing against Ren’s pale, mottled cheek. “But I expect you to finish what you started.”

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if I'll write more for these guys since big fandoms are kind of intimidating, but leave a kind word if you enjoyed it!


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